


drunken mistake

by chocco_chaud



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, BadBro!AU, BadBrother!AU, Bottom Papyrus (Undertale), Ecto-Genitalia (Undertale), Ecto-Penis (Undertale), Ecto-Vagina (Undertale), Fontcest, Forced Orgasm, Fucked Up, Gross, Hand Jobs, Horniness, Incest, Loss of Virginity, Loud Sex, M/M, Might add more chapters, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pain, Painful Sex, Papyrus (Undertale) Has Issues, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sans is a Mess (Undertale), Sexual Fantasy, Sibling Incest, They all have issues, This is an AU, Top Sans (Undertale), Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Virgin Papyrus, Virginity, Whining, Whump, bad brother au, big yikes, but its on purpose i promise ily, can you get off to this?, gross smut, gross???, hope u enjoy, if so, is it hot, its gross be warned, let me know, papyrus is not into it, sans is bad, so it will seem out of character, that. doesn't begin to cover it, virgin, was in a weird mood ig
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:33:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28373949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chocco_chaud/pseuds/chocco_chaud
Summary: //please remember that this takes place in the badbro!AU, where the only thing that's changed is that Sans fuckin sucks ass and papyrus is considerably less papyrus-y as a result <3//Sans gets way, way too drunk at Grillby's, possibly because Papyrus let him stay for an extra two hours, and makes a series of bad decisions that only get worse. There will be some brief exploration of Papyrus's fantasies. Mostly, though, this is me just trying to write gross smut that is also at least a little bit sexy?? I hope it came out ok. If this gets any attention at all I might add some extra chapters. <33
Relationships: Papyrus/Sans (Undertale)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 55





	drunken mistake

**Author's Note:**

> enjoy, i guess ::

“Mmm, Papy...” Sans mumbled. He whirled around in his bar seat, nearly knocking his empty shot glass over in the process, sockets half lidded, eyelights flickering as he chuckled sluggishly in his drunken haze, “whaddya doin here...?”

There wasn’t much in this world that Papyrus loathed more than the hellscape that was Grillby’s. The revolting excuse for a restaurant was a cesspool of grease and alcohol, the majority of its patrons similarly disgusting and sloppy; the stifling, stale air inside, which , as a bonus, carried the sickening stench of old burger meat, was thick with sweat and booze, hardly breathable, almost suffocating. He felt as if a thin coat of grease settled over his bones each time he entered that terrible place. Truly revolting. He simply didn’t understand the appeal.

As much as he hated Grillby’s, though, he had to admit he hated the unfortunate sight he was typically met with inside even more- that of his older brother, drunk, stumbling, and largely incapacitated. He’d even put off showing up for a couple hours, that night. Midnight was Sans’s usual cut-off time, but Papyrus was so tired of this, of struggling to stay awake into the late hours of the night in order to drag his drunken brother home, only to be lectured and abused when they got there.

“Brother,” he mumbled, gently, clearing his nonexistent throat, “it’s time to go. It’s late.”

Luckily enough, there weren’t very many other monsters in the restaurant at the time; there weren’t, usually, at 2 in the morning. That drunken bunny was there, like always, but Papyrus, after casting a hesitant glance in her direction, determined that she was unconscious, or, at least, drunk past the point of retaining whatever was to go down between Sans and Papyrus. It... wasn’t usually pleasant. 

He shared a knowing, tired glance with Grillby, a sort of apology for whatever was about to happen; Grillby had always had monumental patience for Sans, which Papyrus was _very_ thankful for, but Grillby’s leniency didn’t make Sans’s conduct any less shameful. Papyrus frowned lightly, soul sinking, as Sans’s grin was wiped from his face, eyelights flickering out completely as he glared up at his younger brother. Papyrus tugged at the frayed cuffs of his soft cable-knit sweater, premature embarrassment filling his soul.

“You...” he growled, “you think you can fuckin’ boss me around, Paps?” he turned away, feigning apathy, barking out a harsh, brief chuckle, “fuck off. I’ll drink as late as I want to drink,” he sighed, “dun’ give a fuck what you want...”

He sighed, brows furrowed in frustration. Papyrus loved his brother. Of course he did. But it was... it was difficult not to hate him, just a little bit, when he behaved this way. It was just that Papyrus knew he was better than this childish display. 

And it was, of course, also that he knew what would come as soon as they got home. Papyrus was an optimist, but he wasn’t stupid. A drunk Sans was an angry Sans, and an angry Sans was almost always a few bruises Papyrus would have to explain away to the few monsters that ever asked about them. Grillby shot him a pitying gaze, fiery brows creased as he pretended to focus on cleaning the beer glass in his hands, head-flames mounting. The concentration of grease in the air seemed amplified that night, sticking to the roof of Papyrus’s mouth as he breathed. 

“I’m not trying to boss you around,” he continued, placing an unsure hand on the drunken skeleton’s shoulder, “I’m just trying to-”

“Fuck _off,_ ” Sans snarled, “I don’t care. Go home and... do _chores_ or whatever it is you do.” Papyrus drew into himself, embarrassment filling his soul, eyelights fading as his brother continued, “make yourself useful for once and _leave me the fuck alone._ ”

He retracted his gloved hand, sighing shakily and taking a quiet, tentative step backwards. This wasn’t looking good for him. At this rate, he might as well have just let Sans drink himself to exhaustion, let him stumble home in the ungodly hours of the morning tomorrow, and deal with it then. He’d be angry either way, so what was the point, really, of fighting with him?

...But Sans would be safer at home in bed, he knew. He was too drunk to walk home alone; as short as the walk was, Papyrus knew he could easily trip and fall and hurt himself, and with his 1 HP, the risk simply wasn’t worth it. So what was the point of waiting when he could get Sans home safe now and take the punishment he probably deserved, anyways? 

“I’m sorry,” he stiffened, doing his best to stand up straight and tall even despite his frailty, suddenly hyper-aware of the thick, rank air suffocating him as he struggled to speak, “but it’s time to go home, now, Sans. Come on.”

Doing his best to swallow his panic, he once again placed a hand on the shorter skeleton’s shoulder, a bit firmer this time, gently pulling him backwards in a last-ditch effort to get him to stand up. Grillby’s surprised gaze bored into the nearly-trembling skeleton’s very core as his brother jerked hard, whirling around with a scandalized, angered expression on his face. 

“Fucking... prick,” Sans snarled, “who the _fuck_ do you think you are?”

“Language,” Papyrus reprimanded softly, gaze darting up to the clearly uncomfortable flame monster behind the bar, cheekbones heating with embarrassment as his brother stared him down. 

“ _Language?_ Are you fucking-” he choked on a slurred, aggravated laugh, shaking his head, “wh-whatever.” Slowly, with a sluggish grunt, he rose from his seat at the bar, struggling to find his footing. Papyrus rushed to his support, snaking a thin arm around his shoulders and steadying the swaying monster.

“You fuckin’...” Sans jerked backwards and away from Papyrus, the both of them nearly tumbling over backwards with the force of it. Papyrus caught himself, watching, brow raised, as Sans struggled to stand up straight, brows furrowed with annoyance, “ you ruined the fuckin’ mood anyways, so I might s’ well leave.”

It wasn’t usually _this_ difficult. Sans, on a typical drunken-rescue night, just begrudgingly stumbled out alongside his younger brother with a few vulgar complaints along the way. Perhaps work had gone badly, that day. 

“Gh...” Sans stilled, smirked up at his brother, eyelights returning to their full brightness, “you’ll make it up to me, though, won’t you?”

Papyrus stilled, taking a step backwards, confusion and embarrassment heating his soul as well as his cheekbones as Sans stepped after him, grinning drunkenly. What was he...

“Sans-!”

Papyrus gasped, horrified, as Sans lunged, planting a fumbling hand on the taller skeleton’s hip and letting his other hand slip under the hem of Papyrus’s soft orange jumper, fingers skimming over the sensitive bones of his ribs. Papyrus blushed, stiff, eyesockets wide at the sudden bout of sensation. _What’s wrong with him?!_

“Ugh.. you’re so loud. Shh...”

Revulsion and shock struck Papyrus all at once, cheeks red-hot with humiliation as his brother, looping a few thin phalanges between his ribs, shoved him _hard_ towards the nearest wall, pinning him, the sound of the impact momentarily startling the intoxicated rabbit across the room out of her haze. Her ears twitched, pointed in their direction, before she opened her eyes, another rush of embarrassment flooding Papyrus’s already overwhelmed soul as she peered drunkenly at the odd pair over the lip of her booth. 

“Let _go,_ ” Papyrus begged weakly, gaze alternating quickly between the bunny across the room, who blinked sluggishly at the spectacle playing out before her, and Grillby, who didn’t seem to know how to react, exactly, to Sans’s sudden... _attack._ What was he doing? What was he _thinking?_ Sans had hurt him before, plenty of times, but this was new, and this was disgusting. This was _wrong._ He had to be _really_ drunk to even consider...

“Get off of me!” Papyrus squirmed, brows furrowed, “brother-”

“Shut _up_ ,” Sans mumbled, fingers skimming along the surface of Papyrus’s ribs, slowly moving downwards, dipping underneath Papyrus’s ribs and gliding along their terribly sensitive underside. He thrashed, hard, eyesockets squeezed shut with humiliation and, regrettably, arousal, mouth twisted into a thin, pained line. 

Blinded by the utter shame that came with the unexpected assault, he reached up with both trembling hands and shoved his older brother back, as hard as he could manage, sending him careening into the bar stools behind them. He crashed hard into the bar, scrambling drunkenly for purchase, glasses and plates skidding across the bar’s glazed wooden surface as the stout skeleton fought. Papyrus’s soul sank to his stomach as he watched his brother struggle back to his feet, hands still raised in front of his chest, eyesockets wide with regret. He glanced around for help, for _something-_ Grillby was hunched, scrubbing furiously at the glass in his hands, doing his very best to pretend he hadn’t seen anything, and the bunny had already returned to her drunken nap, snoring gently as she slept. Oh, he was screwed.

Sans rose, albeit quite slowly, shoulders hunched as he righted himself. A few slow, tense beats passed between the two, Papyrus too terrified to break eye contact with Sans’s lightless sockets. His signature grin was gone, replaced with a soft, unreadable grimace. Dread settled somewhere deep in the pits of Papyrus’s soul. He was _so screwed._

“We’re going home.”

Papyrus nodded fervently, eyelights flickering out, dread pounding in his soul as he stalked after his older brother. He couldn’t bear to turn and sneak a look at Grillby, hunched with embarrassment, uncertain of what was to come when they got home but sure that it would be absolutely terrible. 

Sans didn’t take shortcuts when he was drunk; he’d often end up in... odd places, once even finding himself somewhere deep in the slums of New Home. Locating him had been... a journey, to say the least, and the experience had been enough to ward Sans off from ever attempting a shortcut while even just slightly intoxicated ever since. Tonight, though, was different, Papyrus guessed, because upon stepping out of the bar, lagging just behind Sans, he found himself stepping into his living room, without so much as a blink in-between. It was jarring, expecting your boot to hit snow and landing, instead, on carpet, and to have lost those few seconds of peace he could usually expect on the walk home... 

“Th..the fuck were you thinking, Papyrus?”

Papyrus blinked down at the drunken skeleton swaying before him, brows raised. Sans was working on shedding himself of his booze stained jacket, struggling clumsily out of its sleeves, glaring at Papyrus all the while.

“I...” Papyrus shifted, unsure. What had _Sans_ been thinking? Unabashedly throwing himself at him like that, at his own _brother._ It left a terrible taste in Papyrus’s mouth and dread in the pit of his stomach. It had been a drunken mistake, surely. A joke, albeit one in poor taste.

“I believe,” he began, glancing away, “I believe I should be the one asking _you-_ ”

“Fuckin’...” Sans tossed his coat onto the couch, crossing his newly bare arms over his chest, “fuckin’ embarrassed me in front of Grillbz...”

Papyrus raised a brow. Surely he wasn’t serious. He knew Sans to be the type to often get wasted, but he’d never been quite drunk enough, before, to come on to his own brother in public and accuse _Papyrus_ of being the embarrassing one. But this was temporary. He’d regret everything in the morning, perhaps even apologize for his conduct. Papyrus knew he would. This wasn’t like him.

_Except,_ a little voice cut in, _maybe it is like him._

He shook it off.

“I think you had better get to bed,” Papyrus muttered, making sure to keep at least a meter’s distance between himself and his apparently rather unstable brother, watching him closely as he swayed, grinning.

_Think about it,_ the voice returned, urging, louder, _the way he looks at you..._

As Papyrus did his best to banish that particular train of thought, eyelights flickering gently, Sans stumbled forward, falling against Papyrus’s chest, sending the taller skeleton stumbling backwards into the wall with a soft thump. Sans was heavy, having sunk hard against his brother before Papyrus could even think to duck out of the way. He froze, unsure, eyesockets wide as his brother, fists buried in the thick orange fabric of Papyrus’s sweater, adjusted himself, humming softly against his ribcage. The scent of alcohol and sweat came with him, sharp and unpleasant, drawing a grimace from the taller skeleton.

A few static seconds passed. He blinked, suddenly rather nervous. Just an accident. He’d fallen, of course he had, he was drunk. And he’d be standing up on his own soon enough, apologizing. And then Papyrus would put him to bed and absolutely nothing untoward would occur. Because Sans was violent, but he wasn’t _this_ violent. Not violent enough to... well. 

_He’ll stand up,_ Papyrus thought desperately to himself, eyesockets falling shut, _He’s just tired and drunk. This is annoying, sure, but it certainly won’t get worse. He’ll stand._

But he didn’t. Papyrus waited, gave him a few generous beats, as uncomfortable as it was to feel his brother’s hot breath on his ribcage even through the sweater, feel his broad chest rise and fall, slow, flush against Papyrus’s torso. And he really was _close_ , leaning so hard it almost felt like every inch of his body was pressed up against Papyrus’s. It was all a bit... much, especially after Grillby’s.

Just an accident. _Please._

“Sans?” 

It was just an accident, because if it wasn’t, Papyrus knew he wouldn’t be able to overpower Sans. Not even when he was this drunk. Sans might’ve had low HP, but he absolutely made up for it with the incredible, _impossible_ strength of his magic, and Papyrus couldn’t hope to compete, especially lately. How long had it been since he’d eaten something...? 

Papyrus had ended up at the wrong end of Sans’s rage many a time, and for much less than the scene he’d caused tonight. Sans had impressive control over his magic; each attack of his was cold and calculated, always, and he knew just where to strike to make it hurt, which attacks to use when. He’d never received any formal training or anything, not that Papyrus knew of- he was pretty sure he was just born that way. His detachment from it all didn’t make things any better; he wasn’t exactly the type whose magic would flare up with his emotions. He’d get angry, he’d shout for a bit, and _then_ he’d punish Papyrus, with brutal, precise coldness. He’d never held back with his magic before. He certainly wouldn’t now. 

So it was all just an accident. 

“Sans, please...”

“Mmm,” Sans hummed again, snaking an arm around Papyrus’s slight waist, tight and restrictive even despite his drunkenness, “gh... fucked up my night, you’ll pay for it. S’only fair,” he chuckled lightly, Papyrus’s soul sinking into the depths of his gut, tears pricking at his eyesockets already. _Pathetic._

But he knew Sans wouldn’t do this, he thought Sans was better than this, this depravity. He was violent sometimes, he was mean, but he wasn’t...

“Get off,” Papyrus winced at the tremble in his voice, even through the air of firmness he tried so desperately to maintain, “Sans. This is wro-”

He pitched, sucking in a sharp inhale through his teeth, nearly sinking to his knees; he probably would have, had Sans not been pressed so tightly against him.

Sans had made him blue. 

_No, nononono-_

Eyesockets wide with terror, he struggled through the sudden, almost painfully intense weight on his shoulders, pulling him down, keeping him still. Even diminished by the alcohol in his system, Sans’s magic easily held him there, paralyzed. He fought, hard, to no avail, squirming, panicky as he struggled against his brother’s magic. Nothing. He couldn’t... he couldn’t escape, he could hardly move. A gentle shade of teal flickered within Sans’s eyesocket for a moment as he turned to stare up at his newly restrained brother, grinning widely. 

No. He wouldn’t do this, would he?

_But you saw this coming._

“Stay still for me, Paps,” Sans muttered, stepping back an inch or two, finally allowing Papyrus some breathing space (though it wasn’t much of a relief to him, not anymore). “You know you deserve this, don’t you?”

“N-” Papyrus struggled, “brother, this is _sick_. Let me go!”

_You saw this coming. You should’ve brought it up. Told him you heard him-_

“St-stop,” Papyrus breathed, unsure who, exactly, he was talking to anymore. Sans’s hands were jarringly cold against Papyrus’s shaking bones, eliciting soft shivers from the taller skeleton as his fingers slid under the hem of his sweater, skimming gently over the edge of his ilia. 

_You just didn’t want to face it, didn’t want to face that your brother wanted you. Wants you._

“Please.” Papyrus was shaking, wracked with nausea and dread as his brother’s hands explored the outer walls of his pelvis, drifting over the base of his spine, under the hem of his jeans, and down the bumpy surface of his sacrum, towards his coccyx. Deep waves of arousal rolled through the taller skeleton, shame and humiliation flooding him tenfold, eyesockets half lidded with the various sensations as Sans’s fingers worked over his sensitive bones.

Sans watched him closely, intense gaze never straying from Papyrus’s pained expression, refusing to afford him even the tiniest bit of privacy. Taking in every little twitch, every gasp, savoring his every miniscule movement with that unreadable grin on his face.

_And look where that’s gotten you._

Papyrus felt sick. Disgusting. Thick bouts of heat and arousal radiated slowly outward from his pelvis, creeping into every inch of his trembling body, each individual bone hot with shameful neediness. Sans kept going, rubbing incessantly at the arching rim of his ilia, movements quick and light and calculated, Papyrus whimpering all the while. He was heavy not only with Sans’s restrictive magic but also his arousal, keeping him slow and sluggish even as he continued to struggle weakly against Sans’s touch. 

_Should’ve told him you heard him shouting your name while he..._

Slowly, Sans let one hand drift down even further, over the jut of his hip and past his femur, settling on the silky, translucent magic hood over his clit, tucked just underneath the sharp dip of his pubic arch. A deep moan shuddered forth from the taller skeleton at the sensation, the touch eliciting a throb of particularly intense pleasure between his legs. Papyrus shifted weakly, shame weighing his soul down even further as he bucked into his brother’s hand, pelvis downright tingling with reluctant arousal. Couldn’t help it, he didn’t want to. Stupid, stupid body.

“You like that?” Sans chuckled, tracing circles into the deep hollow of Papyrus’s ilia with one hand and rubbing clumsily at the crest of his cunt with the other, falling into a slow, agonizing rhythm of intense stimulation. A deep shudder wracked the taller skeleton’s body as exhaustingly intense sensation tore through his body, forcing him forward and against his brother, knees buckling as his soul throbbed with arousal. Apparently, it didn’t take much.

Papyrus had never done this with anyone. Had hardly even touched himself, really. He knew the basics, of course. He wasn’t naive, just inexperienced. He’d sort of always looked forward to it, though. It sounded... scary, but deeply romantic, intimate- the pinnacle of closeness to another person, letting them do as they wished with the most private parts of you- and Papyrus had always been a sucker for dramatics. He’d looked forward to it, truly. And this was his first time, would _always_ be his first time, against the wall, his brothers hands all over him, magic holding him down, _forcing_ him. Sans’s hot breath against his ribcage. Gasping, shameful moans as he was touched all over, pelvis rubbed. Shaking.

This wasn’t right. None of this was right. 

_Should’ve told him you found the sweater he stole. You knew what he’d been doing with it._

“St-stop,” he pleaded breathily, “Sans. I can’t.”

“You can. You _are_ ,” Sans slurred, “jus’ keep staying still and _taking it_.”

“Please,” Papyrus squealed, cheekbones hot with humiliation as Sans, slowly but surely, dragged those icy phalanges up and over the tight, stiff vertebrae of his spine, tearing soft whimpers and gasps from the taller skeleton as the overstimulation truly began. He’d never...

“Don’t,” Papyrus begged, knowing exactly what was to come next, his soul retreating as deep as it could into his ribcage, “don’t. Please.”

“Shh,” Sans growled, fingers dipping underneath Papyrus’s ribs, drawing a pained sob from the trembling monster as his fingers trailed along the hyper-sensitive area. It almost _hurt,_ delicate tendrils of pleasure-pain that looped around his ribs, shaky, shallow breaths all he could manage to force in between clenched teeth _._ He didn’t know what any of this was supposed to feel like. His... _experiences_ , so far, had been limited to tentative exploration of his lower half; soul & ribcage stimulation was not yet part of his repertoire . He was pretty sure, though, that it wasn’t supposed to be _this_ unpleasant.

He didn’t want, this with Sans, hated the very idea of it. Wrong, fundamentally wrong. He wanted it to end, he was _sick_ with want, desperate for all of this to be over. He felt dirty, disgusting, _wrong._ He felt hot and cold, his entire body aching with potent arousal as Sans fervently searched his ribcage, quickly managing to get his hands on Papyrus’s soul, cradling it surprisingly gently between his fingers.

“No,” he begged, louder, “please, I can’t, I can’t...”

“It’ll feel good,” Sans promised, “you’re lucky I’m treating you so well in the first place. Heh.”

Papyrus squirmed as hard as he could against the restrictive force of Sans’s magic, tears finally slipping free from his sockets as he struggled. Even knowing he’d never escape, even knowing Sans was too strong. He couldn’t give up. 

He was foggy with lust, eyesockets half lidded as he fought, unable, even, to raise his hands and push Sans away like he had earlier that night. He should’ve left Sans at Grillby’s, never should’ve persisted. This was his fault for not listening. Should’ve just left it alone. Should’ve just let him stay, let him drink himself to exhaustion. Stupid, stupid, _stupid._

A few punches in the morning would have been infinitely better than this. Anything would have been better than this.

And then Sans pressed down, and everything stopped.

“Hah-” he gasped, eyesockets shooting open, “ah- n...no-”

It hurt. It hurt, it was too much all at once, Sans’s thumb digging into the malleable, sensitive surface of Papyrus’s soul, his remaining fingers working at caressing its underside, slow, brutal strokes that left Papyrus unsure where pleasure ended and pain began.

It was contradictory, clashing, everything at once; as much a delicate, feathery sensation as it was a brick wall of arousal crashing into him at full speed; pulsing, agonizing pleasure boiling his marrow and sending shocks of vulgar sensation crashing unceremoniously through his soul, his skull, his everywhere. It was everywhere, all over, and it was too much. 

“Jesus,” Sans grinned, eyelights positively glowing with lust as he eyed his brother, “keep screaming for me, Paps.”

He’d never been a particularly loud monster. Staying quiet was easier. but he couldn’t help it, couldn’t stop whimpering, gasping, _shouting,_ couldn’t help it. It was too much. Had to get it out somehow, but god, was it humiliating. 

Sans pulled one hand away, leaving the other to keep up working at Papyrus’s trembling soul, slow and laborious and agonizing even on its own. Slowly, those awful fingers traveled back over the length of his spine and under the hem of his jeans once more, dread somehow forcing its way into the mix of emotions coursing through the overwhelmed skeleton as Sans brushed up against his femur.

“Don’t,” he squealed, gasping desperately as Sans’ fingers grazed over his inner thigh, “don’t t-touch it, _please don’t I can’t-”_

And then Sans reached his cunt, and everything was over before it even began. 

“G-gh-”

He barely managed to suck in a breath through his chattering teeth before the wanton moaning started, eyesockets weakly squeezed shut as his brother, chuckling lightly, rubbed _hard_ at his clit, middle and pointer fingers pressed up snug against the sensitive nub. Still prodding at his soul, merciless, brutal.

“D...” words were difficult when he could barely even _breathe,_ chest rising and falling shallowly as Sans started moving, stroking, his cunt twitching as wetness gathered there between his legs. This was different, altogether equally overwhelming but _different,_ straightforward shocks of vulgar pleasure travelling down his legs and nearly sending him to his knees. 

“Please,” he begged, tears streaming down his face, “gh- Sans, brother, th-this is-”

He squealed, pitching forward & into Sans’ chest as he sent three fingers forward and away from his clit, thin phalanges gliding easily between Papyrus’s plump lips, slick with dripping wetness, rubbing incessantly at the translucent flesh of his cunt, prodding at the sensitive flesh surrounding his hole.

_Please..._

And there wasn’t even anything he could do about it. What could he do? Couldn’t escape Sans’s magic. Could hardly stop himself moaning at every miniscule touch. What was he supposed to do, now? 

It was helpless. He was helpless.

“Don’t,” he breathed, slumping against his brother, in defeat, in exhaustion, “d...”

“Jus’ stay still,” Sans muttered, and without warning, forced his fingers inside, _deep_ inside, pained squeals all Papyrus could manage in keening, desperate response. Deep, painful breaths tore from his chest as his cunt struggled to accommodate the sudden intrusion, walls twitching and pulsing around Sans’s fingers. Not even his own slick could negate his tightness, magic already stretched nearly beyond its limited capacity.

“No,” he managed, sobbing weakly, “a-ah-”

He was numb, his legs weak, trembling, barely able, any longer, to hold him up as Sans began to move, slamming in and out with inescapably loud, nauseating squelches. It was incomprehensible, _ridiculous,_ too much to even begin to think about; his brother’s fingers inside him, moving, fucking him. His _brother._ He didn’t know what to think, didn’t know _how_ to think. The vague, painful conflict, the disgust, the _shame_ rolling around within his skull was nearly enough to distract from the stinging pain and rising pleasure between his legs.

Nearly.

“Please, please, please,” he begged through his wanton moans, bucking clumsily into his brother’s hand, too confused and overwhelmed to be embarrassed, soul throbbing and dripping thick, warm magic over Sans’ fingers. He’d never even... touched himself like this, before. He’d been too scared, and he was right. Was this what it was supposed to feel like, this cacophony of sensation, everywhere and endless?

Papyrus buried his face in his brother’s shoulder, beyond thinking, beyond caring. He could barely hold himself up anymore, eyesockets squeezed shut as he struggled to ride the crashing waves of pleasure that took hold of him, one after another. He felt fragile, small, crushed there against the wall, crushed up against his brother, under the pleasure, under the pain. Small and useless and whining.

“God,” Sans snarled, speeding up once again, eliciting a pained yell from the trembling monster underneath him, “you’re pathetic.”

“Stop it, stop, p-please,” he ground down hard on Sans’s hand, moaning lightly as Sans’s fingers were forced deeper yet into his dripping cunt, humiliation flooding him as his body moved of its own accord. He didn’t want to, he couldn’t help it. He was barely even there anymore, his body lost to the pleasure, mind lost to exhaustion, whimpering in distant embarrassment and disgust as his hips stuttered and clacked against his older brother’s hand. He cried out, tears streaming down his face as Sans sluggishly reciprocated, speeding up his impossibly deep thrusts, the clumsy, breakneck pace only adding to the suffocating pleasure- if it could be called “pleasure”- that already wracked Papyrus’s fragile, quaking frame.

He wanted it to be over. He wanted it to end, he wanted to come and he wanted for Sans to be satisfied so he could go to sleep and forget, forget that his brother had raped him, forget that his body didn’t listen. Forget that he sat there and moaned like a useless pile of bones while his stumbling, drunken brother took advantage of him. 

“Stop.”

Papyrus was barely conscious, twitching and gasping and bucking, sniffling, occasionally, as Sans kept up massaging his soul at the same agonizing pace, digging those awful fingers into the twitching, dripping collection of magic over and over and over. Fingers still moving inside of him, shocks of blatant arousal shooting through his femurs with every single thrust. Papyrus wondered vaguely if he even had to count this as his first time.

“Please...” 

And then, before he could even think to brace himself, he was writhing under his brother’s touch, pressure building behind his soul, against his clit, pulsing, tight, unbearable pressure. He tightened his grip on his brother’s t-shirt, short, gasping sobs tearing from his chest as he grew closer to his climax, walls of his cunt clenching hard around Sans’s fingers, stunned silent by wave after wave of pleasure tearing through his entire body, hot and disabling and growing stronger by the second. 

“H-hah, brother-”

Just as Papyrus clenched his teeth in unsure dread, soul spasming as the pressure came to a stuttering peak, Sans slowed, pressure dissipating, a strange, wanting ache replacing it as he brought his thrusts down to a slow, wanton crawl. Papyrus mewled, sobbing weakly into his shoulder, exhausted frustration flooding his still twitching soul. He just wanted it to be over. Didn’t want to play this game.

“Sans, please.”

“Please _what?”_

Sans dragged his thumb over Papyrus’s swollen clit, eliciting a soft gasp from the wobbly skeleton. He bucked into the touch, deliberate, now, desperate for friction, for _something._ He’d been so close. 

“I won’t let you cum,” Sans growled, rubbing and prodding incessantly at his brother’s clit, slow enough to keep him teetering on the edge, exhausted, molasses-like pleasure lapping lazily at his soul, “till you beg.”

Papyrus hesitated, cheeks heating up with embarrassment at the thought. It wasn’t as if he had much dignity left to maintain, anyhow. What was the point of even trying when he knew Sans would do all he could to tear what semblance of self-respect he had left away from him, as long as it took? Why did any of this matter?

“...Please,” he muttered, gasping as Sans sped up, not enough but _so close,_ so close to enough, an agonized sob tearing from Papyrus as he struggled towards his orgasm, burying his fists in the sweaty fabric of Sans’s old t-shirt while he fucked himself desperately against his brother’s fingers.

“Please what?”

“Please let me cum,” he squealed, panting, tears streaming down his face, “fuck me, please, Sans…”

“...Good boy.” 

Sans, with a soft chuckle, abruptly resumed his intense stimulation, sudden, monstrous waves of pleasure tearing through Papyrus’s bones once more. He nearly _screamed_ with the sudden bout of sensation, relief flooding him as stars danced in his vision. He was practically humping his brother’s hand now, desperate, weak thrusts against his fingers. Needy, mindless. Like a _dog._

And there it was, a blinding, fiery orgasm, a splash of thick, hot magic coating Sans’s hand as Papyrus came, bucking, sobbing, fatigue and disgust filling his bones as he rutted hard against his brother’s hand. Too much, so much, he could barely feel it anymore. Like being burned alive. Slamming his hips down desperately, over and over. Couldn’t help it, he was gone, far gone, his soul on fire with the sensation, everywhere on fire. He sobbed, slumping as the burn dissipated, leaving him empty, exhausted, eyesockets half lidded. He was shaking hard against his brother, still clinging desperately to his t-shirt, all he could do to keep himself from falling to his knees.

Sans’s hands slipped out from his ribcage, fingers sliding easily out of his soaked, twitching cunt, a soft, trembling sigh of relief escaping him as his soul was finally released. He couldn’t breathe. Didn’t need to, but he still felt like he was suffocating, wet, pained sobs slipping endlessly from his chest as Sans’ hands dipped lower, gathering one of Papyrus’s trembling hands in his grasp.

Papyrus didn’t bother trying to fight it as his fingers were guided clumsily down towards Sans’s crotch, brushing over the warm, moist bulge barely contained by his thin shorts. Papyrus recoiled weakly, dread rising tiredly in the pits of his soul.

“Feel that?” Sans groaned, forcing Papyrus’s hand further over the twitching bulge, his fingers trembling with tentative disgust, “you feel how much I want you?”

“Please don’t,” Papyrus muttered, shaking his head desperately, “don’t make me.” 

He wasn’t sure how much more he could handle. Wasn’t sure just when he’d hit his breaking point, when he’d shatter. Maybe he already had. All he knew was that he certainly wouldn’t be able to handle taking his brother’s cock. He was too tired, though, to work himself up into a state of panic over it. It would be easier, always _had_ been easier, to just stay calm and let it happen. He couldn’t do anything about it, anyways.

Hm. Perhaps he _had_ already reached his breaking point.

“Jus’...” Papyrus whimpered softly at the distinctive _woosh_ of fabric against bone as his brother hastily tugged his shorts down, the exhausted skeleton’s shaking fingers held firmly in place just millimeters from Sans’s newly free cock, “just want you to touch it.”

He didn’t move, mostly limp as Sans pressed the palm his own smaller hand against the back of Papyrus’s as best he could, guiding it harshly towards his aching cock. Papyrus winced, stiffening at the sensation; his fingers were trapped between Sans’s hand and his dick, slick with precum and sweat, twitching in his weak grasp.

“Oh, _fuck,_ ” Sans gasped, his grip on Papyrus’s hand tightening, “fuck, jus’ let me…”

Sans began to move, jerky and needy, Papyrus’s hand, regrettably, moving along with his, Sans’s hand forcefully guiding Papyrus’s over the slick surface of Sans’s thick member. Disgust and exhaustion filled his bones, all the emotion he could be bothered to register by then. At least he wasn’t, technically, getting his own brother off. He was just letting Sans _use_ his hand to get off. It was different, had to be, or Papyrus was no better than Sans.

“Shit, oh,” Sans gasped, bucking into his younger brother’s hand over and over again, eyelights flickering with sick, shameless pleasure, “god, keep going.”

And before Papyrus really knew it, Sans’s thick, long cock was twitching in his grasp, obscenities flying freely from between Sans’s teeth as hot spurts of cum shot out from between his fingers and on to the (regrettably porous) fabric of Papyrus’s sweater and jeans, warm and wet and disgusting as Sans bucked needily into his grasp. 

How long had that been, a minute? Maybe two? Maybe he’d zoned out, or something. Or maybe he made his brother so hard that it only took a couple strokes to finish him off. He felt sick either way.

“I’ll wait,” Sans breathed, panting, leaning up and tucking his head over his brother’s shoulder, his breath hot against the side of Papyrus’s skull, “to fuck your pretty little pussy. Think you’ve had enough for tonight.”

Sans pulled away, allowing Papyrus’s limp, tired fingers to fall from his cock, and he was allowed, finally, some semblance of relief, of peace. But it didn’t matter. He’d been ruined already. Made dirty, irredeemably dirty. He was destroyed. It didn’t matter if Sans fucked him again, didn’t matter if he never so much as touched him after that night. The first time was all that mattered, and there was no undoing it.

“Heading off to bed, now,” Sans sighed, releasing Papyrus’s soul from the confines of his magic; he’d sort of forgotten he was blue, anyways. The relief he drew from that release, at that point, was minimal. It didn’t _matter._ “You should do the same, yeah? Maybe take a shower.” 

Sans pulled away, wiping his wettened fingers on his t-shirt, a deep sob tearing from Papyrus’s chest as he was left alone, sinking to his knees in utter shame and exhaustion. He couldn’t breathe. In shock, he couldn’t believe Sans had really… he’d really _fucked_ him. Fucked his own brother. He’d always been violent, always. But this was different, this was soul shattering. He watched, eyesockets half lidded with exhaustion, as Sans casually turned to head off to his room, scratching nonchalantly at the back of his skull with a yawn. It was enough to make him sick. 

“Oh, and Papyrus,” Sans turned to face his younger brother once more, standing at the base of the stairs, head cocked lightly to one side, “might need you to come pick me up from Grillby’s again tomorrow.”

Papyrus froze, slumping, eliciting a quiet snicker from the shorter skeleton, who winked, grinning eerily back at him. 

“I get the feeling it’s gonna be another late night.”

**Author's Note:**

> so, uh. :,,


End file.
